That Night In Vegas
by StandingOnTheRooftops
Summary: Trowa & Quatre, strangers, meet each other in Vegas  This is what happens!  Rated for Lemon content, so beware. Takes place between the prologue & chapter one of 'Waking Up In Vegas' but can be read as 'stand alone'. 3x4, 2x5, implied 1xR


**That Night In Vegas**

A 'Waking Up In Vegas' Side-fic

Author: StandingOnTheRooftops

Beta: SilentEpiphany

Summary: Takes place between the prologue and chapter one of 'Waking Up In Vegas', expanding on what exactly happened 'that night in Vegas'. It is not necessary to read 'Vegas' to understand this one, although I hope if you enjoy this, you'll take a peak at it for me. :)

Warning: 3x4, 2x5, hinted 1xR. LEMON. See? LEMON, in big letters. This is mostly just an excuse for the characters to have sex, and they are both MALE characters, so keep that in mind if you think you want to read any further. Sap, Fluff, alcohol, dancing, and SEX. If any of that bothers you... then turn away. If not... then on with the show.

Disclaimer: Don't own GW or it's characters. **sad face**

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That Night In Vegas

Part I

"You said you wanted to have fun," the petite blond girl was glaring at him over the rim of her glass. Her accusation stung, but Quatre couldn't do anything.

He'd invited her and Heero out for a night on the town... having fun. But he'd quickly realized... he and 'fun' didn't go hand in hand. Especially not while he was still so emotionally frazzled.

How could his father just up and **disown** him like that? Publicly, no less.

Relena's features softened, and she reached out to pat his shoulder and lean her head against the side of his. "Don't worry, Quatre. You still have friends, and some family, right? This is **not** the end of the world."

"It might as well be," he muttered, thinking about how quickly his entire business had just fallen into shambles. He had perhaps less than a quarter of the clients he'd started the day with.

"Don't think like that," Relena snapped, smacking him in the back of the head. "Now where's that spirit I heard earlier on the phone? This is VEGAS. Come on, make the most of it. Heero, tell him he's being a spoil-sport!" she demanded of the man beside her. The man's dark blue eyes glanced over at the two.

"You're being a spoil-sport," he parroted the girl, knowing he was whipped.

"Come on Quatre," Relena weaseled at him, "Dance, drink, have fun. Flirt a little. Y'know, it wouldn't hurt you to get a 'SO'."

Quatre groaned in frustration. "Relena, I'm sorry for dragging you out, but really... I'm no fun right now."

"That's the POINT!" she argued, huffing.

"I'm sorry Relena. I have to use the restroom." Grabbing his drink, he hastily made his way far from the girl.

He lied. He knew it was horrible to lie to her, but he just had to get away. He made his way upstairs. In this particular club, the upstairs was less crowded, the noise and music not as loud, the people not as crazy and rambunctious. Finding a spot on the rail, overlooking the dancefloor, he leaned against it, sighing.

"Running away, too?"

"Yeah," Quatre responded automatically. He looked up to see who'd spoken. The stranger was gorgeous. Long, lean lines. Casual clothes, an even more casual attitude, leaning back against the rail, not bothering to oversee the scene. From this angle, Quatre could see cinnamon-caramel brown hair falling forward over an angular face. The eyes, closed, blinked open and Quatre could make out dark emerald. Combined with that voice... it was enough to make any woman pant and beg.

"Who you runnin' from?"

Quatre tilted his head. The voice had some unique little roll to it. Distinctly country, he decided, but not the blatant twang, more a soft rolling.

Quatre gave a small chuckle, and used his drink to point down to the bar. "The little blond in pink."

The stranger gave a glance down, and Quatre saw those soft-looking lips curve- just barely- up into a smirk. He got the feeling this man didn't let himself smile very often.

"Because, of course, everyone should run in fear of little blondes wearing pink," the man chuckled, lifting a hand to tweak the sleeve of Quatre's pale salmon dress shirt. Unbidden, a blush drifted onto Quatre's face.

Was this man flirting with him? He'd not been with many men- only one in truth- but he knew enough to know he appreciated both sexes in equal amounts. And he certainly wasn't against perhaps a bit of flirting in return. But it was always best to test the water first.

"Of course," he said. "That goes without saying. So... are you going to run in fear?"

The man shrugged. "Mama always told me I never had a lick of sense."

Quatre laughed brightly, taking this as a sign that the man would be sticking around for a bit of conversation, maybe. And damn, but that voice and its soft drawl... beautiful.

"So... you're running, too? Hopefully not from some little blond." Quatre asked.

"See the two guys over by the speakers?"

Quatre looked in that direction, and blinked. "Guys?"

"One brunette, and one black haired one."

Quatre blinked again. "Hopefully you're not talking about that girl and the guy rubbing very indecently against each other. They're practically having sex on the dance floor."

The man laughed lightly. "See why I'm running? And the brunette is a guy."

"But... that hair..."

"Guy," the man reiterated. "Don't ask. His sister has hair that barely reaches past her ears, and his reaches past his ass. I gave up trying to figure it out a long time ago."

"Tell me about it," Quatre sighed.

"So it's easy to tell why I'm running from my best friends... but why are you running from your girlfriend?"

Quatre giggled. "Girlfriend. Good one. Relena's not my girlfriend. Just my best friend, who happens to be a girl. I've had a pretty bad day, and I suggested maybe going clubbing would help y'know, be a good way to forget about it." He sighed. "But it's not, and now she claims I'm being a spoil-sport because she says I'm all moping and depressed."

The stranger nodded. "Sounds like you're in the same boat as me almost. Duo and Wufei down there- they suggested maybe coming to Vegas for a little vacation would help me get over... someone. And perhaps gain me inspiration to paint again."

"Ah... artist. That explains the whole mysterious air you have. Reminds me of another friend. So... I take it you've not found anything here you really want to paint yet, huh?"

"Only one thing..." was the soft, barely heard reply. Sensing those dark emerald eyes on him, Quatre repressed his blush.

"So what do you want to do? Since you're running away from your friend?"

Quatre thought about it, and decided he'd had enough of the tip-toeing around.

"I wanna dance," he smiled. He set his drink on the rail and turned around to face the other. "Wanna dance with me?"

He could see a split second of... worry? Panic?... in those beautiful eyes, but it passed.

"My friends down here may be gay," he said, "But I am not."

Quatre shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to dance, though? And besides, I'm not gay," he replied. Then smiled. "I'm bi." Not giving the other a chance to say no, he downed what was left of his drink and reached out to grab the other man's hand.

"We're gonna dance. Not just run from our friends!"

He laughed merrily as the other followed him, not really fighting. This could be the start of something fairly wonderful, he thought as he felt alive and free and **happy** for the first time that night. Something wonderful.

* * *

He had no earthly idea how it had happened. One moment he was trying to tune out the whole world, and the next he was down here dancing with a pretty little blond in pink.

He'd been upstairs, seeking silence and what passed as solitude, when this little thing had leaned on the rail against him, sighing in relief like he'd just escaped from the lion's den with all fingers and toes attached.

He'd looked as if he were running from something. And it didn't hurt that the artist in Trowa could see the beauty of him. Standing there, bathed in the soft, dim light of the club, golden hair in an almost messy sort of nimbus around him that contradicted the almost prim dress shirt. That chin that screamed 'stubborn' and the soft mouth that betrayed vulnerability. And those wide, expressive blue eyes.

For the first time in a year, Trowa'd had the urge to put pen to paper and try to capture that beauty, try to re-create that vision. And so, now here he was, on the the dance floor with a very tactile blond right up next to him.

He'd admitted that he didn't swing that way, and the blond had admitted that he swung both ways. And...

Trowa found it didn't matter.

He was here, with the blond pressed against him to the thrumming of the bass, and he wasn't afraid. Or 'weirded out' or repulsed. In fact, if he was anything it was turned on. It was intrigued. It was captivated, entranced... enchanted.

That was the word.

Enchanted.

That was how he felt. He could feel the heat from the other, and realized he didn't even know a name to place with that face. And he realized he didn't care. But he was interested in the blond.

"Can we go somewhere less... noisy?" He asked, leaning down to speak into his ear so that the other could hear him over the music. Blue eyes met with his, and the blond nodded.

"Lets get one last drink, okay?" The blond questioned, and Trowa agreed quickly. He'd only had the one drink tonight, so he'd need a tad bit more courage to hang around Vegas with a stranger.

The bartender was slow, but Trowa never noticed. He was having too good a time talking to his new friend. About the music in the bar. He had no idea how long their drinks had been sitting there before they noticed them, but he didn't really pay much attention. He grabbed the glass and downed the contents at once, the fluid burning its path down his throat. The blond downed his quickly, too, then smiled. And after both of them waving a quick bye to their friends, they left. The blond's friends had given him a curious expression, and a sort of 'be careful' look, and Duo had given Trowa a thumb's up and 'go for it' signal.

But Trowa had no intention of 'going' for anything. At least... that what he told himself, anyway.

* * *

Dark eyes watched as the brunette and the blond walked away. Smirking... both glasses were empty, and neither had noticed a thing. A small vial slipped back into a dark jacket pocket, and with the smirk firmly in place... he swaggered out of the bar.

* * *

The plan, Quatre thought, had been to find a quieter bar somewhere. Somewhere they could dance and talk at the same time perhaps. But, here it was an hour later. Each had a small coffee in their hands from the small cafe', and they'd not stepped foot into another bar. He felt the ridiculous buzz that came from alcohol, although he could have sworn he'd not had more than two or three drinks all night.

Here it was, less than three hours after they'd met, and they were just... walking. Walking and talking.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Quatre asked, looking up at the water soaring into the air. The Bellagio Fountain rushed at full blast in the near distance.

"Beautiful, indeed," the other agreed, and Quatre blushed, realizing he was standing between the brunette and the fountain. He just couldn't figure this man out. He wasn't gay- or so he said- and yet... every time Quatre turned around... there were comments like that.

And come to think of it... neither knew the other's name yet. And Quatre found he didn't mind that. No matter what became of tonight, or if they had names or not... this was still one of the best nights he'd had in a long time.

They had similar tastes in music. The other was an artist, and Quatre had long had an interest in the arts. They both had a fondness for animals, though Quatre didn't have the time to put in to care for one.

He'd giggled when the brunette had asked him to pause for a moment, and had then produced a small sketchbook from... somewhere. Quatre was too giddy to wonder about it, but had obediently stood still long enough for the other to do a quick sketch of him in front of the Bellagio Fountain.

Laughing, with courage that normally would have taken him several drinks to muster, he danced back up to the brunette.

"Now... don't say anything," he said, seriously. "I know you said you weren't... but... let me just try this..." Leaning up, before the other even had time to blink, he pressed his lips to those in front of him. There were unbelievably soft. Sweet, sensual... when they opened in a small gasp of surprise, he took it as an invitation and delved inside, trying to find what other secrets this mysterious stranger might be hiding.

* * *

"Do you believe in fate?" The blond asked, whispering it against his lips, arms still encircling his neck. Trowa had quickly realized he couldn't fight the blond off... nor did he want to. The kiss was sweet and passionate. It felt so, so... so **right**. When they'd first paused for breath, Trowa had pulled them out of the lights, and into a dark corner, so they could continue kissing in semi-private.

"I believe in you," Trowa found himself whispering back. Where had that come from? He felt the smile under his lips, and found himself smiling in return. How crazy was this? He wasn't gay. He repeated it to himself... but he lacked the conviction. Maybe... perhaps he was bi. He'd certainly never hated kissing girls. And sex with Midii had been... very good. But this...

This was butterflies and sunshine, darkness and stars. It was **everything**. Beyond good.

"Let's go," the blond finally sighed. "We can find somewhere else to talk. I **like** talking with you. It's... different, than what I'm used to."

With that, they set out. Walking out around the fountains. Slowly, for every time he had a different angle, Trowa wanted to sketch something knew before stuffing the small notebook back into his back pocket.

Currently, the blond was laughing, spinning, dashing ahead of him, happy as a lark as the lights of the fountain sparkled in the night. A fine mist settled on their skins- the wind was blowing a little harder than earlier, but they'd yet to cut down the height of the water fountains. The fountains still went straight and high, but a heavy mist soaked everything around them.

"I want to do something... spontaneous!" The blond cried, turning in a circle. The lights behind him illuminating the fountain that cascaded around them, behind them. "I want to do something for myself and no-one else!"

"What do you want to do?" Trowa asked, holding the blond's hand and letting him pirouette once, twice, before pulling him in close for a hug, their lips close, but never touching, breaths mixing, but still so far apart.

"I want... I want..." Aqua eyes stared up into shaded Emerald. "I want you," the blond admitted breathlessly.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd not had much to drink at all, but here he was, throwing caution to the wind, actually considering a relationship- of some sort- with a man he'd met mere hours ago. Another man.

Trowa laughed out loud. How cliché. "We're in Vegas, we seem to still be drunk, and we're talking nonsense. That's so cliché."

The blond nodded, with a bright grin. "It is, but it's... spontaneous! Nothing is more spontaneous than..." He was spinning again, but he stopped, looking at Trowa. "I know. Let's get married! Getting married while drunk is like a requirement for partying in Vegas, isn't it?"

Trowa laughed. "It does seem like it." Then, he looked closer at the blond. He wasn't kidding. The blond was perfectly serious. Mildly inebriated, but still- mostly-sober, and he was proposing they get married. "You're... not joking."

"Nope," the blond laughed, throwing his arms around Trowa's neck. "I've never felt this way with anyone else, you know? I've never **wanted** to do anything like this. But with you... I do. I want things that I've never had. I want to do things I've never done... with you."

"You're drunk," Trowa reasoned.

"I had **three** glasses," he retorted. "Hours ago. I'm hardly drunk. Tipsy, certainly. But not drunk. I know what I'm saying... I want **you**."

"The question remains..." he said, his voice softer, doubt suddenly appearing in his aquamarine eyes. "If you want me..."

Trowa paused, trying to look inside himself. All those things that this man had said... all of those applied to him as well. The never having wanted anything so much. For the first time in a very, very long time... Trowa felt alive. For the first time in a very, very long time... He'd been able to draw.

It wasn't much... but Trowa had faith in himself. And somehow... he had faith in this stranger.

So, he smiled. "Just no Elvis, okay?"

And when he suddenly found himself with an armful of squealing, giggling blond trying to see if there was any treasure hidden behind his tonsils... he couldn't really regret it.

* * *

Part II

Trowa had no idea how they made it to his hotel, which was pretty far from the Bellagio. With a very amorous blond clinging to him, taking every chance offered to steal a kiss, or grope his ass. Or any number of things that Trowa was certain were meant to tease him.

But then again... he really didn't care at that moment. His friend- now husband- had remained relatively calm while in the lobby, but the moment the elevator doors dinged closed behind them, the man was in his arms, kissing him passionately. Trowa could feel a strong leg hook behind his own, and feel a hand press against his chest, then trail downwards.

He gasped at the feel of nimble fingers feathering light, teasing touches over the bulge at the front of his pants. This blond was a damned tease! Growling, he spun, pushing his soon-to-be lover up against the wall of the lift, attacking those sweet lips, and rubbing against the lithe body. 'Tit for tat, and all of that, right,' he thought as his blond moaned under the assault.

The doors dinged open, and Trowa glanced up to see an old woman looking at them oddly, shocked. Not even the right floor, he noted quickly and reached out with a grin, pressing the button to close the doors.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but they managed to make it into the room. His **husband's** shirt was loose, falling down his shoulders, hanging on by the wrists. His own sweater was bunched up under his arms, and his belt already undone, a hand worming its way into his pants.

He couldn't help but cry out as said hand found what it was looking for. The door slammed behind him, and he barely managed to throw the lock, before cursing.

The bed was on the other side of the room. He didn't want to wait that long; couldn't wait that long.

The floor? The wall?

His hip bumped into something as the amorous blond writhed around him. The light bulb went off in his mind, and he smirked. He grabbed his soon-to-be lover by the hips, lifting until strong legs wrapped around his waist, then he spun, slamming the smaller man back and down, onto the sturdy little dresser.

Perfect. It kept his lover at the perfect height.

Hands pushed at his shirt.

"Off," the blond demanded impatiently. Usually, Trowa would rather wait, take his time... but not now. Now, he was inclined to agree. He nearly tore the sweater in his haste to rid himself of it, and he managed to get his jeans off somehow.

"No underwear... kinky," was the soft remark, followed by a grin. "I like."

"Return the favor," Trowa ordered, tugging prim slacks and boxers down in one go, exposing pale, smooth flesh. The blond slid forward a bit, bringing their heated lower regions into contact.

"I need you in me... now."

Some small part of Trowa argued that what he was about to do was incredibly stupid. Unprotected sex with a stranger. A **male** stranger. But the larger part of Trowa was all for it. He forced two fingers into the blond's mouth... and suddenly realized exactly how true that stupid song was... Damn, but he did look better with something in his mouth. One day, Trowa determined to see what else looked good in that mouth, but for the moment, the feel of those warm lips sucking hard at his fingers, the feel of that tongue twirling around... it was enough.

Impatient though he may be, Trowa knew he could never intentionally hurt his new partner. Inexperienced though he may be, Trowa knew that some form of preparation was needed- thanks, mostly, to Duo's rather **loud** retelling of his exploits with Wufei.

And, he had to admit, the strangled scream that fell from those warm, soft lips when he pushed those two slick fingers up and in, searching for that magic spot that Duo swore was the only reason he'd ever let Wufei top him... that scream was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time.

"Enough," was the rough gasp. "_Now_," the blond hissed, then took matters into his own hands- quite literally. He grabbed Trowa's wrist in one hand, pulling his fingers out, and using his other hand to wrap around Trowa's heated length. "In me **now**," he demanded.

And when Trowa pushed forward, lifting the man by the hips, thrusting in, it felt like coming home.

Tight heat wrapping around him, enveloping him in Heaven. That was the only way to describe it... Heaven...

"If you think that's Heaven," the blond said with a smile, hazy aqua eyes meeting with emerald in the darkness. "Wait until you reach Nirvana. Now... **move**." He lifted his hips and pushed, taking Trowa further in. Trowa blinked. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud, that's how consumed he was. Already.

Pulling out, he thrust in again. And again. And again. His own groans were added to the moans and gasps from the man in front of him... and the creaking of the dresser.

He lifted the blond to him, and took him down to the floor without ever breaking their rhythm, never separating from each other. He could feel what the blond had mentioned. He felt that familiar sensation curling inside him- stronger than he'd ever felt it before. He let out a primal scream as he came, followed only second later by a warmth splashing across his stomach, chest.

Drained, he collapsed, barely managing to roll to the side and avoid crushing his slightly smaller partner.

"Nirvana, huh?" He questioned, his mind still rather blank, his eyes still glazed.

"Did you find it?" Was the breathless inquiry.

"Yeah," he admitted. "And you?"

"Yeah." The blond rolled closer, aqua eyes closing slowly. "Yeah, I did..."

Trowa glanced down, noticing his new lover was fast asleep. With a soft, indulgent smile, Trowa looked up towards the bed. On one hand, this floor was uncomfortable. On the other... the bed **was** rather far away. Did he want to risk the back-ache from sleeping on the floor after rather strenuous sex, or take the time in getting to the bed?

The bed- and the promise of warmth from the chilly room- won out. It was rather simple to pick up the slumbering blond, but rather a bit harder to get his legs to work enough to make it to the bed. His mind was heavy, curiously blank. Where was he? What was he doing?

He glanced at the mop of blond nestled on his neck. Oh, yeah. Putting his husband in bed.

Husband? He racked his mind, trying to find a name... but no name came forward. He didn't know this man's name?

"I'm Trowa, by the way," he muttered sleepily, talking to the empty night.

"Quat-re," was the sleepy reply as the blond snuggled closer to him. "My head feels funny," he murmured. "Love you."

Trowa blinked, finding his own head feeling rather stuffy, heavy, blank. But it looked like the blond was out again. Hmm... it seemed like a really good plan, to him.

Sleep. After all... he had the rest of his life with the man beside him... a man he'd quickly fallen in love with.

"Love you too... Quatre..."

* * *

Quatre knew before he even woke up that he was *not* in his own hotel room. There were several reasons he knew this: a) because his bed was alot fluffier than the one he was laying on, and b) there was no-one else in that other bed but him. And there was *definitely* someone else in *this* bed.

Surprisingly, Quatre didn't panic. It felt good to be wrapped up in someone's arms. To have a warm body pressed up against his, his hand around their waist and his head on their shoulder. It had been much too long since he'd slept with anyone, he'd almost forgotten how nice it felt to simply cuddle in the mornings.

He briefly wondered just what Relena let him do last night, because he didn't remember a thing. He had a pretty bad headache, but at least the nausea hadn't hit... yet. Shifting slightly, he became aware of a vague ache in his body that told him that he *had* done *something* last night. Zechs would have a field day with *this*, and Quatre couldn't wait to ask just why Relena had let him get so drunk that he'd sleep with someone he didn't know.

He groaned slightly and opened his eyes. The curtains in wherever he was were drawn, so the sunlight didn't blind him. He blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes before taking in his surroundings. It *looked* like another hotel room. Not a fancy suite like his, but a Vegas hotel none-the-less. That's when he finally mustered up the courage to see what type of loser he'd shacked up with.

'Oh, Allah,' Quatre thought. 'I must be dreaming.'

He bed-mate was *gorgeous*. Honey skin that simply *begged* for one to see if it tasted as sweet as it looked. Hair the color of melted caramel, falling forward over a clean-cut face. A long, lithe, and lean body, all spread out overtop of the covers for Quatre to see. The fact that that long body was *all* male didn't bother Quatre. He'd long since accepted that he was open-minded and could see the beauty in people... male or female.

'Oh, wow,' Quatre gulped mentally. 'How did *this* happen?'

And that's when two specific things happened. That's when bright, beautiful Emerald green eyes blinked open to stare at him. And that's also when he noticed the gold band around his left ring finger.

Uh-oh.

Owari

(Unless you read 'Waking Up In Vegas', of course!)


End file.
